You'd Never Hurt Me
by Crystallion12
Summary: "Oh no, dragon. I won't harm him…" Drago Bludvist lifted his bull-hook, pointing it at Hookfang directly. "But YOU will." [Three-Shot. Rated high T to low M for torture, language, violence, blood/gore, etc. What-If of HttyD2.]


**You'd Never Hurt Me**

 **-A HttyD2 What-If-**

 **Three-Shot**

 **Written by Crystallion12**

 **WARNING: Torture, blood and gore, violence, enslavement, and language, are heavily featured in the following content. Not for young or sensitive audiences. Read at your own risk.**

 **High T rating, or a low M. Whichever way you see it.**

 **Viewer discrimination advised.**

 **-xXx-xXx-**

 **Part One: Seized**

 **-xXx-xXx-**

[Snotlout's POV]

Was I angry? No. I was fucking _furious_.

I glared at Eret, son of Eret. How dare he? _How dare he_!? Hearing his pathetic, whiney voice, currently in mid-strangle, made me feel even more enraged at the trapper. This bitch got no sympathy; he led us here.

"How many!?"

My gaze flickered, landing on the huge, dark, menacing Drago Bludvist. The mere sound of his dark, cold, gruelling voice alone made my blood curl, and my fists- which were simply begging to punch the lights out of him- ball tightly, the sound of cracking knuckles soft in the background. Rage seemed to bubble past boiling point at the sight of the ebony, dragon-skin cloak, and I didn't feel any empathy towards the man for any of the scars that tarnished his massive figure.

Suddenly, I just felt so much worse. I could barely register that Astrid was quietly going on about how 'he didn't have them after all', probably indicating to Hiccup, Toothless, and Stoick.

But that wasn't what was on my mind. Instead, my eyes, full of fury, and sheer terror now, were laid on my beloved dragon, my best friend, my soul-mate for life.

Hookfang.

The Monstrous Nightmare was laid, tied up, defeated, submissive, on the wooden floor of the deck. I tried to quietly call out to him, but I got no response. When my foot inched towards the trapped dragon, a brutal fist shoved into my back.

Without warning, my temper snapped. I yelled and shouted, blinded by my wrath, tugging at the restraints to get to the Nightmare.

Astrid started shouting, and I didn't need any script to tell me what she, and the rest of my friends were saying.

Stop. Stop, or you'll get us all killed.

Granted, all I could hear was angry cursing at the guards, from what I could register, but… I just had to… I had to…

Suddenly, I heard a pained, longing roar, and out the corner of my vision, I saw that familiar, blood red, scaly head trying to get to me, bright, sharp, piercing yellow eyes glazed with fear and desperation.

I shrieked, pulling and tugging harder, calling out Hookfang's name over and over, even as fists knocked me down, and a hand clamped over my mouth. Pain started to burn in my body, although I couldn't honestly care less. I could see Hookfang now, even if his long, fiery body was snared by ropes, his edges blurred in my eyes. Almost blindingly bright flames spewed from Hookfang's daunting jaws, and I could hear the screams of men and the burning of flesh. The corners of my vision started to darken, a blow to what I believed was my head sending me numb.

"Ho… Hookfan… fang…" I whispered, just as the world went black, and I knew no more.

 **-xXx-xXx-**

Snotlout blinked, groaning softly- his vision was blurry for a while, and his head was pounding. He was handcuffed, and kneeling on a cold wooden floor, his hands tied down to a metal pole in the middle of the cell, which was tiny- it couldn't have been any larger than seven feet in each direction.

Even when he pulled and tugged on them for what felt like an eternity, nothing changed. If anything, the shackles practically dug in deeper. Snotlout did discover that one of his feet was also shackled, chained to the pole- what did Drago think he would do? Escape, somehow? In a cell like this one, he found that idea rather far-fetched. The bars were undeniably not normal, possibly the same dragon-proof substance the Dragon Hunters had used. The bars were crossed, forming multiple squares in the metal that were probably only a foot apart.

The dark-haired adolescent cursed mentally. How was he meant to get his friends, and Hookfang out safely, when he was in this sort of trouble? He couldn't deny it for long- he was an idiot.

But, looking at it all in a different, plausible way, you couldn't exactly blame Snotlout for his actions- Drago had started it, by acting rough with his dragon.

Just at the mere thought of the man, his awful name drumming in his mind, the young man growled. His knuckles cracked, his eyes falling to the floor beneath him. He just felt useless, helpless, pathetic.

If he wasn't so angry, and the toughened Jorgenson that he was, he may have even shed a tear.

It was _useless._ And it wasn't just a word to taunt his cousin with anymore.

Crying didn't help; in fact, it probably made it worse.

He bit the inside of his cheek, staring out the bars of the cell. He could see a cell across from him, and if he moved slightly to the left, he could see the first half of another cell- looking right, he saw the steps and latch to the upper floor, or the deck above.

Snotlout sighed quietly, staring down, wondering where his friends were. Had they been locked up as well? Or were they being… Disposed of? The thought made him shudder. He knew the dragons would most likely be restrained and immobilized in metal, atrocious traps by now- they'd sighted them aboard all the sea vessels. The mere idea of Hookfang, curled up tightly and bound in shackles and chains, waiting in terror for his fate, was enough to make Snotlout's heart tear in half and almost make his eyes 'dust up' as he called it.

 _Think, Snotlout, think! How to get out of this… How…_

But no matter how hard he tried, how far he stretched his horizons and limits, he couldn't possibly escape.

This time, it would be up to someone else to save him, whether he liked it or not…

…If he ever did get rescued.

 **-xXx-xXx-**

Hookfang, Monstrous Nightmare, and the soul-mate and dragon of Snotlout Jorgenson, was terrified.

The dragon couldn't deny that anymore.

He lay in the cold, steel clutches of his cage. Metal was painfully trapping his paws, shutting his snout closed, binding his wings to his lean figure, as his hunger started to wear down the young, shiny, polished lustre of his scales, and his ribs were threatening to show on his sides. They scraped and itched against his crimson scales, and they held him down. He hated it.

It was only when the sound of approaching, heavy footsteps, trailed by the slight clinking of a dragon-skin cloak dragging over the floor, reached his ears, did he glance up in the gloom.

While the human's approach was much closer now, there was also the presence of two armoured dragons- the same species, from his best guess- were made known. But it was Drago Bludvist that stole the Monstrous Nightmare's attention, as the man stood in front of the bars. His dark eyes glared down at Hookfang.

"Well, well… You are quite the beast; I will say that. Far more intelligent and menacing than most Monstrous Nightmares I lay my eyes upon. Feisty and strong-willed, but I can tear through that quite easily… You're perfectly capable of what I have planned for you, my little pet." Drago Bludvist's foot found its way onto Hookfang's lowered snout.

The dragon growled, but didn't pull away- it would make everything so much worse.

"Don't you fret, dragon," Drago now cooed, as if being nice and sweet, but instead, it was outright mocking. "I won't harm your human. At least, I haven't, not yet."

Hookfang almost warbled in surprise, and hope- was Drago telling the truth? Was his Snotlout safe? It seemed like this for a split moment, as the man said and did nothing. But then, horror swirled in his stomach, as Drago cackled evilly.

"Oh no, dragon. I won't harm him…"

Drago Bludvist lifted his bull-hook, pointing it at Hookfang directly.

And with the cruellest smile he had ever seen, in all the villains that had dared to mess with them, he said three words that left the dragon frozen.

"But _you_ will."

 **-xXx-xXx-**

Snotlout dared to look up. Foot-steps were approaching; and fast. Two pairs of them, and the shuffle of an armoured dragon, its tail clinking softly on the plankboards as it moved along, sniffing, grunting, and growling, its tone hoarse and deepened. The men, even, seemed to be mentally unstable by their treatment, and it made Snotlout nervous to hear their gurgles and snickers among their savage grins and scowls. By the actual time they had remembered their task, the Berkian Viking was more than confused.

And all too soon, the cell's door was open, and it all happened so fast.

A soft cry of pain left Snotlout's lips, as suddenly, the dark, abused dragon soldier shot its dark, pale green head through the bars, and snapped its savage, heavy, hot jaws on his shoulder.

He shuddered, whimpered, and once the initial shock and the restrained scream passed, started to shake. Snotlout stared with wide, petrified eyes, feeling the blood just _drain_ out of the wound, the crimson, sticky, foul liquid seeping between gaps of the dragon's razor sharp, stinking teeth and dripping to the floor of the cell. A horrible feeling sank into the young adult's stomach, and with a revelation that brought disgust, and horror, he saw both men cackling their heads off madly.

He expected the dragon to let go, after it had taken its job, leaving deep, bleeding gouges in his left shoulder. It wasn't to be so. It's iron, vice-like grip remained on his limb, the teeth lodged in place. With his hands shackled and leg locked in place, he couldn't even try to get away.

The pain was bad. Horrible. Terrible. And for some reason, it came late, as if his mind had been lazy to realize that the creature had just taken a snack out of him.

It burned and blazed within his muscles, sending many previously undeterred alarms in his brain off. They blared loudly in his skull, throbbing, as he suddenly felt rather dizzy, and stars flashed before his eyes, red and blue colliding in a sickening way. And that's when he finally had to notice how much he _had_ been shaking, and how much he _wasn't_ anymore. How still his arm had become. How the dragon's two upper fangs, both about the length of his hand, were still in his flesh, buried right in his nerves, but not the other linings of serrated teeth. As narrow-slitted yellow eyes met the adolescent's blue orbs, it struck Snotlout, and the idea made itself known; had his arm just been paralysed?

He didn't know. He couldn't be certain. But the simple concept of losing his arm, and just like that especially, with his light head and terror for his dragon and friends, was enough to tip him over the dreaded edge.

So, he screamed. And screamed. He screamed his lungs to extreme tightness, until tears leaked in the corners of his wide, terrified eyes that just wanted to shut and never open again. His shoulder was numb; he couldn't move his arm- all he could feel was the slight sting of the wound.

The dragon's head pulled away, wrinkling its snout at the foul taste before dragging itself out his cell.

And yet, the Jorgenson still howled and writhed the best he could.

Meanwhile, while the young man struggled fruitlessly in blind terror, the guards were having a splendid ordeal, pleased at his panicked, drugged misery- just as they were sure that Drago Bludvist, their commander, would be. The dragon's venom had served its job well, and unfortunately for their captive Dragon Rider, he was sparsely aware of what torture they would soon deliver.

Oh, no.

They had _no_ idea what Drago could- and _would_ \- do, to both him, and his beloved Monstrous Nightmare.

 **-xXx-xXx-**

Cold. Dark. Alone. Miserable. Terrified.

Those five words was all that was currently needed to describe the human known as Snotlout Jorgenson, whom was slumped on the wooden floorboards, shivering and shaking, soft whimpers occasionally coming out, creating the faintest clouds of chilly vapour. While the insane, horrible soldiers and the venomous beast had left him, another armoured dragon stood next to his cell door, holding guard.

Perhaps, he should have tried to reach out to the captive soldier, but he felt not the will, or the energy to do so within him. Blood had stained the floor, and a few splotches on his shackles simply reminded him of what had happened.

He had been paralysed- or, rather, he had thought that. Sort of. The joint was stiff, stinging, burning, and was hard to move, but not immobilised completely…

It was hard to describe, and he really, _really_ , didn't want to dwell on it, but what else could he think about? Not escape. Not freedom, or pain relief, or welcoming, lovely daylight and warmth, the covers of his bed and the embrace of the ones he cared about.

As if he didn't have enough lack of faith in the disastrous situation, his little 'friend' wasn't helping. As expected, the overly negative, dooms-day voice that grinned maliciously at his pain, taunted him in the back of his head with every whimper he made to the bursts of pain. It certainly wasn't helping his paranoia of what was happening to the others, especially Hookfang- the thoughts were too horrible, too sickening, and he already felt nauseous.

For not the first time (although he wouldn't ever admit it), he wished he had the mindset of Hiccup, his brilliant, selfless, caring cousin and leader, and, his future Chief, if anything went right at the end of this… Presuming that the agonising fiasco _did_ end, that was. But that aside, he longed to have the same endurance and stubborn nature of Hiccup, unable to break or bend with a single cut, or panic at the first threat (sometimes, he would even be able to manipulate the enemy with their own threat, which was rather ironic and hilarious in his opinion). Being able to wriggle his way out of most situations, usually without much trouble at all.

But, alas, he was not Hiccup. And even if Snotlout tried, and tried to hide it, he was losing it, he was breaking under the pressure, the fear, the pain…

Sniffling, the young man couldn't help but tug on the chains grappling him to the unforgiving wood. The boat wasn't moving, but it still rocked slightly on occasion, and it unsettled him. Nothing about the movements were right, they were too trembling and threatening, for any waters. It was almost like it was not actually the natural occurrence of waves that caused it. For all he knew, maybe that was the correct answer, but he didn't have time to think about that any more. Someone was approaching, and his stomach knotted in dread.

He only knew one person, aside from Stoick, who had that much intimidation and power in that stride.

Appearing before Snotlout, standing only a few inches from the bars, Drago grinned, his savage delight causing his scarred lips to twitch upwards, quite unpleasantly. His grin was as smug and malicious as he recalled from their last consultation.

"So," Drago hissed, or, more like spat, in the literal sense- the Jorgenson's nose wrinkled in disgust and resentment as the saliva struck his brow. _Anger_ , pure anger he had kept reserved until now didn't take long to find its way into his throbbing head, although it was rather quickly extinguished by the madman's following words.

"How do you feel, _slave_?"

Drago then continued, smirking when Snotlout froze, utterly shocked and filled by mortification. "I can imagine you must feel rather down on the level of shit. I mean, you _are_ responsible for all this…"

Snotlout bit the inside of his cheek so hard, it drew blood. The steely taste, even more revolting than it smelled, filled his mouth before long. His voice was cracking. His nerves on edge, ready to burst with fear and nervousness. The tone, the grin, the words. It was all colliding, and working its way into his heart and mind, setting panic in as the three main factors wove and entangled to create a disaster. And, Drago was certainly picking that up.

"What? You expected a warm hand shake, maybe a toast in the Captain's Quarters?" Drago cackled, as if amused by some good old joke. "Oh, you're just as thick-skulled as that mangy reptile of yours. Priceless in the comedy, you two are."

Snotlout froze. He couldn't resist it. His eyes grew wider, his voice teetering on the verge of utter desperation, he even pulled forward on the chains slightly.

"Hookfang!?" He blurted, and before a frowning Drago could say anything, his fury doubled.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM, YOU FUCKING SON OF A B-"

He gasped, feeling his weight suddenly leave the cell floor, and he was thrown backwards, the chains also yanking on his body painfully and retaliating, pulling him back before he collided with the wall. Drago snarled, glaring down coldly at the moaning figure splayed across the ground. The man must have kicked him, in the gut, hard. The youth could barely breath.

In the space of time it took for Snotlout to even register what was happening, the cell door was open, and he was pinned harshly by a cold boot on his neck.

A whine came through, and Drago slowly, tauntingly bent down, growling in his prisoner's ear. Even the voice alone of the madman was enough to send shivers down Snotlout's spine, but this terror he felt was different to what had transpired moments before. It rattled him to the core, plaguing his mind and dreadfully lingering, but sparking when each syllable struck, almost like trying to remove a leech, or some other vile blood-sucker who wouldn't release. His breath reeked of everything horrible, alcohol,l and _blood_ , of all things, being quite prominent. He couldn't even bring himself to mentally _grasp_ the latter.

"Now," Drago began, voice awfully quiet and calm, "Let me tell you this before I start. Do as I say, and it'll be so much easier. Remember that well, slave. Now. Listen up." Even if he didn't want to, Snotlout didn't object.

"Rule one," Drago growled, "I'm your master, and I'm in charge. What happens when you disrespect authority? Trouble. And it'll be _far_ more than smacked bottom and a grounding with me. You do it wrong, you get punished. You try to run, you get punished. You're simply here? Well, you are here to be bent to my will, so I guess you'll just have to accept that EVERY fucking moment from now on is your punishment. Got it, slave?"

Not waiting for a response from his shaking captive, the hulking, dark figure wasted no time explaining his unjust conditions.

"Rule two. You will not speak to any guard, man or dragon, unless _I_ say so. No communication, no nothing, unless you have your master's permission, and that's me. Get used to that, slave. It'll help you a great deal, to know you're my property now, to do as I please, whenever, whatever, and however _I_ want."

"Rule three, and this one stands as most superior. You belong to _me_. No one else. I'm your master, and you're my slave, my play thing, and my object to control. You are nothing now. You do as I say, and you listen to only me. Not yourself, not anyone else. Disobey your loyalty just once, and, well…" The madman grinned, a twisted glint in his pale, cold, vicious eyes. "I'm sure that won't happen, but if it does, I guess you'll just have to find out. The _bloody_ way, too."

With one final chuckle, and a cruel shove of Snotlout's head that caused a collision with the floorboards, Drago made his departure, leaving the young man to lay in his despair, now desiring his soul-mate more than ever.

And thus, the sleep that befell Snotlout was one of the utmost restlessness, and the nightmares howled their glee.

 **-xXx-xXx-**

When Snotlout was next woken, it wasn't by the consistent bumping and nudging of Hookfang, as it had been for the last few years of his life. It wasn't followed up by a grin or a cuddle after he had groaned and complained his fair deal, tacking his dragon up and joining the group for their customary breakfast in the Great Hall and then a pleasant flight together, often updating one another on the latest news or their own lives.

Rather, it was a knife that sank into his calf muscle, and was then torn right out.

No warning, no time to react.

His eyes shot open, and an agonised scream tore through the air. Snotlout gasped, his chest heaving far too fast for his own good, and his inners twisted at rapid speeds, ending up with him hurling up whatever he had left in his stomach. His heart had to at least be doubled in speed. Panic and agony clawed through his senses.

He was miffed and silenced, when a boot kicked his chest with a resounding crack.

Finally, when his struggle to keep silent prevailed, the youth bit his cheek again to attempt to cover for his pain, and his gaze turned up to stare, shocked, at the guards who glowered down at him.

Their prisoner.

Drago Bludvist's slave.

The mere thought made him want to throw up again, but there wasn't anything left to do so. He didn't try to quench his terror as they yanked him upright, and another guard unchained him from the post. They half-dragged, half-pulled Snotlout to a dark, rancid-smelling room, and without warning, they simply threw him to the ground. Gasping wildly, the Viking backed up against the nearest wall, left in complete, utter darkness when the door was slammed shut.

He knew how fast his descend to panic had been. He knew he was almost broken, and he'd been barely… Okay, he'd been harmed quite a lot. But surely, not as treacherously as he'd soon become subject to, or others had experienced, without submitting.

But, Snotlout was still, if not minimally, clinging onto the cause of protecting Hookfang, his friends and family, and Berk.

He wasn't going to give in… He _wouldn't_ … He _couldn't_ …

No time to think.

The door flew open, and acting like he was walking into some exquisite evening or party, Drago Bludvist strode in. Snotlout gulped, keeping silent, as he was told- for now, he'd abide his 'masters' rules…

"Aww. What a poor, _poor_ , helpless little thing…" Drago tutted, eyeing his shaking prisoner and leaning down to come on level with him.

"Pity I have to make it all worse, hmm?"

Upon receiving no response of any kind, except a possible, tiny, whispering whimper, Drago gave a 'humph', and stood up straight once more, clasping his hands around his back. Waving a hand at the guards at the door, the exit was shut with a horrible slam. There wasn't much light in the room at all, only lit in a fiery glow by two torches hung upon opposing walls to the left and right of the door.

"Now." He said sharply, and inspected him over keenly. "Just how shall I start this… Hmm…"

Snotlout knew he probably _should_ have been looking at Drago in that very moment, but something else had his attention. Or, rather, someone.

Only one soul had such menacing, fearsome yellow eyes, illuminated like his fire in the dark.

"Hoo… Hookf… Hookfang…?"

 **-xXx-xXx-**

Drago's gaze snapped over to the pair of eyes in the gloom. He smirked, then chuckled darkly.

"As good as a place to start than any."

Snotlout's eyes widened, as Drago took a welding torch, lit it, and swept it over to reveal the dragon he had sworn his heart to.

Hookfang, it seemed, wasn't apparently Hookfang anymore. The brilliant, blazing coat of shiny, glimmering red-orange scales was nothing more than a dull, brown-red, loose skin slightly hanging off the dragon's body. Ribs and bones were easily visible. The dragon's eyes, formed by dangerously narrowed slits, reflected no emotion other than pure anger and a hint of terror.

But… He wasn't in chains? Snotlout's heart skipped a beat, and the word came tumbling out his mouth without any second thoughts.

"HOOKFANG!"

And then, instead of a dragon running into his embrace, came a vicious, wild snarl.

The madman, standing right beside the Monstrous Nightmare, threw back his head and laughed murderously. Snotlout could only stare, his lip trembling, horrified. His own dragon had just outright displayed cold, unruly, sheer savageness to his beloved rider. Like they didn't even know each other.

"H… H… Hooky…?"

This time, it was a roar. And it was only because Drago whacked the creature's wing, that Hookfang didn't launch forward and kill Snotlout with a brutal mauling.

Drago grinned, his eyes narrow and delighted in the firelight. "He's not yours anymore, like I said… He belongs to _me_ now. As do _you_ , slave. The dragon accepted its fate… A certain while, ago. It's high time you saved your own ass to do the same."

Not his, anymore. Accepting fate. It. _Slave_.

Hookfang had given in, lost his identity. He'd been broken. He had become Drago's tool.

Granted, never even at the end of Ragnarök would his dragon so easily give in, but who knew what horrors had been laid upon the Monstrous Nightmare.

No…

No. Hookfang wasn't _his_ dragon.

Not anymore.

 **-xXx-xXx-**

 **Part One: Seized**

 **-xXx-xXx-**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Don't have much to say… Sorry for the severe lack of content from me. That's it, I'm afraid. Grandparents and school have been taking time lately, so yeah. Tomorrow's my Hatching-Day (Birthday), so yeah, consider this a thank you for all the support my followers, if you're reading this, have given me this past year or so. Part Two of this Snotfang will be called 'Shattered' and our Finale's title will also start with a S. Alliteration for the win!**

 **DRAGONITES UNITE!**

 **-Crystallion12**


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